


Squirming at Your Side

by Adenil



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ancient Greece, Bathing/Washing, Fluff, Hair touching, M/M, Slavery, soft, takes place (mostly) when crowley is still crawly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: A night alone together in Athens, Greece brings our two favorite ethereal beings closer together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 101
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019





	Squirming at Your Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheKnittingJedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKnittingJedi/gifts).



> A gift for TheKnittingJedi during the Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019! The prompts included an encounter with an historical figure (also partially meets "a misunderstanding with a happy ending"), and this is where the muse took me. Hope you enjoy!

_412 B.C._

_Athens, Greece_.

The problem, of course, was that the Greeks practiced slavery.

Aziraphale did try to get them to stop. He’d been trying for a few weeks now, murmuring about loving one’s fellow man and about how, yes, slaves were a part of that group, thank you very much. He had managed to change a few minds outside the city, but Athens itself seemed to be an impenetrable mass which assumed slavery to be quite natural. The problem, when Aziraphale thought about it, was that his heart simply wasn’t in it.

Not because he thought slavery was appropriate—heaven’s no! Only because he’d performed this exact brand angelic influencing on over three dozen societies over the last two thousand years. Every time he managed to convince humans to forgo slavery in one area it popped up in another. He couldn’t so much as turn around without seeing that terrible institution arising from the ashes of his earlier smiting. Terrible thing.

For the first thousand years he had blamed Crawly, just to have someone _to_ blame, really. But Crawly had caught up with him in the Fertile Crescent and been aghast at the suggestion. (“Really, Aziraphale? How could you think that of me? Slavery is so dull. So _banal_. Not really my style at all.”) According to Crawly slavery was the mark of a society run by humans too lazy to do their own bad deeds, and Aziraphale really couldn’t disagree. This left him with the uncomfortable idea that perhaps this was just a part of human nature, but even that explanation fell short because the slaves were quite human as well but there had never been a group which organized for its own subjugation. The whole thing was terribly curious and annoying and really distracted him from the things he would prefer to be doing like going to plays and eating wonderful food and drinking a bit too much wine under starlit nights.

Aziraphale tried not to think of it too often. There was nothing much he could do but trust this was all a part of the Ineffable Plan and go about whispering nice things into the ears of powerful men. And at any rate it wasn’t all bad. The Greeks had done marvelous things with figs and olives, after all. They had even recently taken to squeezing the olives, cracking a new variety of exotic spice known as “black pepper” over top, and dipping their bread into the resulting oil.

He was attempting to enjoy his meal and not think too much about who was serving it to him as he listened to Anytus prattle on about the boring intricacies of his life to a hypnotized crowd. Anytus was a bit…full of himself, if Aziraphale was being kind in his description. As an angel he had his work cut out for him influencing Anytus towards the side of good. He’d long ago decided that ending Anytus’s reliance on slavery would be too much to ask and had instead begun working towards encouraging a strain of democracy in the fellow.

“Anytus, my friend,” Aziraphale said, interrupting the man mid-sentence but smoothing over any potential hurt feelings with a small miracle. “Have you given any thought to our splendid conversation of last week?”

“Ah!” Anytus downed the rest of his drink and sat up, dislodging the dozing Alcibiades from his lap. The young man made a sound of contempt and tugged Anytus back down. “I have indeed. Quite a lot of thought.” His eyes glinted with a mischievous spark. “So much in fact that I think you simply _must_ share your ideas with our friends.”

The rest of the group turned to look at him expectantly, cheeks rosy with wine. Aziraphale felt quite small beneath the bright eyes of these men. They were too watchful, too knowing. He felt a bit like he was stumbling into a trap but couldn’t stop himself. He tried to remind himself that they were merely humans.

He mumbled into his bread. “I only thought that perhaps a woman serving on the council—”

Laughter erupted before he was quite finished. He allowed it to wash over him with a faint feeling of annoyance, which really wasn’t very angelic of him. As the politicians and politician-sons laughed at him the doors opened and a row of slaves entered the _andron_ carrying the main course. Aziraphale perked up at the sight of food. Even if humans made fun of him, food would never forsake him. He was just starting up a lovely daydream where he pushed Anytus out the window and stole his leg of lamb when suddenly his brain stopped working.

It wasn’t his fault, really. It was just that there at the end of the line of slaves was a familiar face framed by an even-more-familiar head of fiery red curls.

Crawly.

He stiffened, suddenly on high alert. The mocking laughter faded, yet Aziraphale hardly noticed. He only had eyes for Crawly in his short chiton and strappy sandals, carrying a platter piled high with _apples_ of all things. Not even figs, which Aziraphale could have excused. But no. Crawly had to be blatant about it.

Crawly caught sight of him staring and made a curious face, as if he had spotted someone across the room he thought he recognized but couldn’t quite identify, and then didn’t pay Aziraphale any mind after that. He knelt beside Anytus and Alcibiades and produced a knife from nowhere at all. He began slicing the apple into bite sized bits and feeding them to the lounging Alcibiades as if that weren’t a ridiculous thing for a demon to do.

Fine. Very well then. Aziraphale didn’t mind being ignored, never mind that they were born and bred enemies. That was perfectly acceptable and he absolutely wasn’t trying to burn a hole into Crawly with his gaze.

“—my friend?”

Oops. Anytus was talking to him. Aziraphale startled and hid his surprise behind a drink of wine. “Mm? What was that?”

Anytus was all smiles. His eyes slipped from Aziraphale’s face down to Crawly kneeling beside him, and then back up. “I was just asking, where _do_ you get such strange ideas?”

“I suppose they just come to me,” Aziraphale murmured, having completely forgotten what they were talking about.

Dinner continued. He watched Crawly. Crawly _didn’t_ watch him. Occasionally Crawly’s lips would move as if he were whispering something very evil indeed to Anytus and Aziraphale would narrow his eyes in rage. No wonder nothing had come of all his work! Crawly was sneaking in after him and undoing it all with his—his _temptations_. Deplorable! It was entirely unsporting of him.

Aziraphale ate with a vindictiveness that was unbecoming on him and he didn’t even care. He participated only half-heartedly in the philosophical discussions which came after dinner, but which slowly petered out into drunken human ramblings by the time desert had come and gone. His lips were sticky with honey and he was annoyed with an angelic righteousness that was a bit surprising.

The party broke up. Crawly disappeared into the back with his empty platter without so much as a nod in Aziraphale’s direction. Anytus sent his boy Alcibiades towards the bedroom with a pat on the rump and then caught Aziraphale’s arm before he could make his own exit.

“Are you staying in the city?”

“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. He’d manifested a little room near the water which was always miraculously shaded by an olive tree.

“You’ve been in and out so much I wasn’t sure.” Anytus smiled at him. “Listen, I was wondering…why don’t you stay here tonight?”

Terror gripped Aziraphale. He looked back the way Alcibiades had gone and then at Anytus again, his gaze rocketing between the two points faster than the human eye could probably track.

Anytus laughed, catching his implication. “No, I wasn’t…that’d be a bit much to manage, don’t you think? No, no. I was thinking about the spare room behind the garden.”

Aziraphale had been in the garden a handful of times after parties such as these. When he could get Anytus alone he was almost amenable to listening to Aziraphale talk about doing the right thing—or so he’d thought, before Anytus had pulled that mean trick during the appetizers.

But Aziraphale hadn’t known there was a room back there. “Oh, I don’t know…”

“It’s not bother, really. Save you some coin for the night.”

He couldn’t very well say he wasn’t spending any money at all. “I-I suppose that’s true.”

“It’s quite lovely back there, especially this time of year with so many flowers in bloom. And in the morning the birds come down and sing you awake. Listen, why don’t you stay the night and tomorrow we’ll go for a walk and talk more about your democratic ideas. They really are a wild thing. I’m sorry about earlier, it’s just that I hadn’t realized you weren’t joking.”

“That’s quite alright.” This was an excellent sign. Anytus, after being tempted all evening by Crawly, was still turning towards the light. “Very well then. Just for tonight. I wouldn’t want to impinge on your hospitality for too long.”

“It’s no bother at all. I like the company, especially with the wife out of town.”

A plaintive, wheedling call came from the direction of his bedroom. Alcibiades growing lonely.

“Speaking of.” Anytus’s grin widened. “You can see to yourself, I imagine? And, oh, I’ll send that redheaded slave in to help you with your bath. I saw you looking and wouldn’t want to deprive you.”

With that Anytus winked and strolled away, leaving Aziraphale standing quite stunned in the foyer.

Looking? _Looking?_ Aziraphale hadn’t been _looking_ -looking. Had he? No. No, of course not. He’d been glaring, which was an altogether different thing than looking. Yes, quite. Not similar to looking at all, that glaring. He was stunned that Anytus could have interpreted his steely-eyed frown as anything but annoyance at having encountered his sworn enemy at a party.

“Ridiculous,” Aziraphale muttered under his breath. “Me, an angel, _looking_?”

He stomped off towards the garden.

The gardens were beautiful, which did not at all suit his mood, and the guest room was really more of an entire extra house tucked behind the trees. It was smaller, but still U-shaped like the main house. The floors were tiled ostentatiously and the altar just behind the well looked unused. Inside all was quiet. Aziraphale assumed any inhabitants had been sent off to give him and Crawly…alone time…although the spotless appearance of the house belied the presence of slaves. He folded his hands in front of him and nervously tugged at his fingers as he contemplated what he would say if—when Crawly arrived.

There was a desk and Aziraphale distracted himself by ruffling through it. Purely seeking information, of course. Anything he could find would help him in his mission to influence Anytus towards good.

He found a few slips of paper. Some poems that Anytus had started and not finished. Most of them were boring treatises on the city, but one was a bit longer than the others and far more risqué in a way that made Aziraphale blush with discomfort. He still finished the poem to the end. Research, after all.

“He’s been mucking about with the second stanza for a month now.”

Aziraphale jumped and whirled around, laying a dramatic hand over his breast. “Crawly!”

Crawly looked nonplussed. “Who’d you imagine it would be?”

“How I am I meant to behave after discovering a demon breathing down my neck?”

“Oh, you noticed? I’ve been trying to breathe more. Helps keep with keeping the suspicions down.”

That hadn’t at all been what Aziraphale meant, but it felt rude not to say: “Yes, well. You’re doing a marvelous job.”

Crawly grinned for a moment, honest and pure, and then jerked his chin towards the other room. “I’ll get the bath going then, shall I?”

“Oh, dear. I-I wasn’t—I didn’t intend—there was just a bit of a misunderstanding, you see. And-and Anytus is such a gentleman and a scholar that I hardly expected him to presume such a thing when really I was merely confused. You understand, don’t you? I had to—appearances! I had to keep up appearances when I, ah, saw you?”

Crawly frowned. “So…no bath? I figured you’d be all for that level of decadence.”

Aziraphale fidgeted. “…I do love a good bath.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Crawly turned and walked away. Nervously, Aziraphale followed after, twirling the ring on his pinky finger and occasionally looking skyward for guidance which, as usual, failed to materialize.

The bathroom was as decadent as the rest of Anytus’s estate. A white marble bath was sunken into the floor. It was large enough for three or four full-grown men and their horses to repose in and already filled with crystal clear water. Crawly knelt beside the bath and dipped his hand in, and steam immediately began to waft upward from the water. A faint smell of lavender filled the air.

“Oh, that’s lovely.”

“Smells good, doesn’t it? Solomon knew what he was on about.”

Aziraphale flushed, but Crawly wasn’t looking at him. The demon had moved to a table along the wall and was sorting through the variety of bottles there. He lifted one to the torch light and examined its contents before shaking his head and putting it down again. A second jug, narrow in the neck, seemed more to his liking. He nodded and turned around, frowning when he saw Aziraphale.

“You’re still dressed?”

“Well! I—of course!”

“Kind of hard to take a bath in your full chiton, angel.”

Aziraphale’s blush deepened. Crawly couldn’t possibly be suggesting that he go around _naked_ in front of his most eternal enemy, could he? “What are you playing at?”

“You. Bath. A bit of oil after. It’s good for the skin—their skin, anyway. Might be nice for an angel’s skin as well.” Crawly smiled then, a little, but it was a hesitant smile. “I’m not playing, Aziraphale. It’s just a bath.”

Just a bath. Right. Well, he’d had baths before, of course. He’d even had baths naked in front of other people. It was just that usually the “other people” were humans who wouldn’t know an eldritch being if it appeared before them whirling and studded with eyes. Humans tended not to notice his form at all. To them he was a pleasantly affable smudge. But Crawly wouldn’t be tricked by a glamor. Crawly would just see…him. His corporation and all that it was, or wasn’t.

He struggled for a distraction. “This…position you find yourself in. How did you come by it?”

“The slave bit? I’ll admit I hadn’t thought much of it until you told me all the evil implications last time we met.”

Aziraphale winced. “That’s not exactly what I had intended.”

“No, no, it’s brilliant. See, the types of humans that own slaves are already a little bit evil, just by virtue of the slavery, you know.”

“Quite.”

“But they’re also usually _connected_. I can influence a whole council of muck-brained men who think they’re better than they really are just be sitting around slicing apples for them. Wear a bit of a revealing get up and the temptation practically happens without me needing to work at all. It’s fantastic, really. Much better than tempting one human at a time.”

“But you’ve been focusing on Anytus?”

Crawly waved away the suggestion. “Sure, tonight I was. I am his slave, or so he says. But he’s just about access. And his ideas about democracy have a lot of evil potential, I think. Seems like a great smokescreen to convince people they agreed to do something that they didn’t actually.”

Aziraphale was growing annoyed with this whole conversation, but he couldn’t very well tell Crawly to back off because Anytus was _his_ charge. “Don’t you find it demeaning? You’re a miraculous being and Anytus doesn’t even consider you his equal.”

“I’m _not_ his equal. But no, I don’t care. Whatever gets the job done, eh?” With that he gestured towards the bath again. “So, are you going to wash or not? I’d rather not stand here dithering all night.”

“Oh…very well.” Aziraphale plucked at the fold of his chiton nervously. He slowly undid the pin and set it aside, holding the chiton closed as he did so. He undid a few folds and strategically kept the chiton wrapped around himself. He actually wound up more covered than he had been previously.

“…Need me to turn around, angel?”

Aziraphale glared at Crawly’s open amusement. “Not at all,” he said airily, and finally removed his chiton. He carefully folded it and set it on the table beside his pin, and then slipped off his sandals.

The wood floor was warm and smooth. He walked stiffly towards the bath and dipped his toe in, only realizing after he’d done it that he should have been worried that Crawly’s hellfire would burn him. But it didn’t. Perhaps Crawly had used a basic miracle instead of hellfire to heat the water. The bath felt pleasantly warm and enticing, and once he’d tested the waters Aziraphale couldn’t resist sliding the rest of the way in.

His bottom came to rest on the floor of the tub. The water was just deep enough to cover his shoulders, and with a sigh he leaned back and to wet his hair. The steam dewed against his face.

“See?” Crawly said. “It’s not so bad.”

Aziraphale’s eyes had shut and he cracked one open to watch warily as Crawly stalked around the bath. Crawly stopped behind him and Aziraphale heard him sit and then wiggle around to get comfortable. Crawly dipped his hand into the water again and when he lifted it out he was holding a small ceramic jug of water. He tipped the jug against Aziraphale’s scalp and water cascaded over him, hot and soothing, wetting his hair and rolling over his neck and shoulders. Crawly went back for a second helping of water.

“…You’ve some practice at this,” Aziraphale said after a while of this washing.

“It’s my job, isn’t it?”

“Anytus has you do this often, then?”

“This bit? Sometimes.”

“What other bits are there?”

“Oh, angel.”

Aziraphale spun around, affronted. Crawly was grinning openly at him and Aziraphale gave him the sternest glare he could muster. “Really! I’m well aware of _those_ bits.”

“Really? You haven’t even manifested them.”

“And why should I? It’s just the two of us.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I-I only meant—I’m capable of understanding innuendo, you know. I’m not as pure and innocent as you might wish to imply. I’m very well aware of what Anytus and Alcibiades are doing right this very moment.”

Crawly’s mouth twisted sourly. “Ew, right now?”

“Well, I assume…I’m not _watching_ them, Heaven forbid. But when I left Alcibiades was a bit, erm, _amorously demanding_.”

“Humans. Terribly disgusting.” Crawly went back to pouring water over Aziraphale’s head.

Some of the relaxation had gone out of him. “It’s the purest expression of love two beings can have with one another.”

“You’ve been reading too much poetry. It’s sweaty and messy and sticky.”

“It’s impossible to read _too_ much poetry.”

Crawly laughed. He set aside the jug and picked up the bottle he’d chosen earlier. He tipped it over and clear, sweet smelling oil poured into his palm. He rubbed his hands together briskly, and endearingly human way of warming the oil, and began to rub at Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Immediately, Aziraphale melted into the contact. He couldn’t help himself! Crawly’s hands seemed to know exactly where to touch to work out kinks and knots that his corporation had collected over some very stressful centuries. Crawly ran his hot palms over Aziraphale’s neck and down over his shoulders, prodding at the bunching muscles before wrapping around front and sliding beneath the water and over the swell of Aziraphale’s chest and stomach.

“Oh, my dear…”

“Feels alright, then?”

“It’s wonderful…”

His eyes had closed of their own volition again. He was a puddle of angelic goo as Crawly rubbed him down, working over his upper body with single-minded precision. Occasionally the water sloshed up at his movements, and every now and then he paused to gather more sweet smelling oil. Crawly worked his way up Aziraphale’s neck and began to rake his fingers over Aziraphale’s scalp, sending shivers of delight through the angel.

“Mm…Lovely.”

“Humans are big on this,” Crawly said softly. “I couldn’t get into it myself.”

“Really? Oh, that’s such a shame…It feels…” _Divine_ was the only word that was coming to mind, but he couldn’t very well say _that_ about an action performed by a literal demon. “…Very good. It feels very, very good indeed.”

“Hmm.” Crawly continued to massage his scalp with careful precision. “Maybe it’s different when someone else does it. I tried it on myself and nothing came of it.”

Crawly pulled away, then, leaving Aziraphale floating lazily in the bath. He felt utterly boneless and delighted. His eyes were still closed, but he could hear Crawly standing, and a faint rustling sound as he walked across the room. There was more clicking and clacking of bottles being picked up and put down, and the soft sound of Crawly muttering to himself.

“Here we go. Out you get, then.”

Aziraphale didn’t want to leave the bath, but the prospect of a continued massage was intriguing. Reluctantly, he stood. The cool air immediately prickled his skin, and with a shiver he crawled back onto the wooden floor.

“What do you think of this smell?”

Crawly tipped the bottle towards him and Aziraphale obediently sniffed it. It was nice. Plain, not overly noticeable. A fine lounging around scent.

“Perfect, my dear,” he said, beaming at Crawly. He hadn’t meant to be so effusive in his happiness, but the look of utter delight Crawly had at the compliment told him it was fine.

Crawly started to massage him again. His hands were warm, a stark comparison to the cool evening air. He worked over Aziraphale’s body, his chest, his back, his arms, then down over his buttock and legs before picking up each foot and sliding deft fingers over his sturdy arch. By the end Aziraphale was quite liquid again, but this time, and without water to support him, he had to remain vertical.

He listed to one side. Crawly propped him up again. Slowly, Aziraphale opened eyes that he hadn’t realized he’d closed again. Crawly was standing just a breath away, his yellow eyes hooded and inquisitive.

“Bit less shy now, angel?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips.

“I do wonder,” Crawly said, stepping away from Aziraphale and gathering up his chiton. He began to dress Aziraphale again.

“…Hm? Wonder what?”

“Why Anytus puts up with that lay about.”

“I expected you to admire Alcibiades’s commitment to Sloth.”

“I certainly do, but he’s got a fair bit of Wrath on his side as well.” Crawly carefully folded Aziraphale back into his chiton and reset the pin. “Do you know he stole the plates from Anytus’s house a few weeks back?”

“What? Why ever did he do that?”

“He felt jilted, I guess. I don’t understand why humans do anything. The slaves had a terrible time trying to serve dinner after that.”

“I should think so.”

Crawly lead Aziraphale from the bathing room and back into the writing chambers. There was a plush pile of lounging pillows in the corner, bathed in shadow. It had grown dark during Aziraphale’s bath. He made himself comfortable on the pillows and watched Crawly light a few small pools of oil. Faint yellow light flickered over Crawly’s sharp features, making him look even more devilish than usual. Aziraphale was just relaxed enough to find Crawly quite attractive in the odd light.

Crawly looked over and caught him watching. He seemed to startle, and then an odd look passed over his face. He sauntered over to Aziraphale and knelt down beside him, taking one of Aziraphale’s feet into his hands.

“Now what are you doing?”

“I didn’t gain all these skills for nothing,” Crawly groused. “Obviously I’m massaging your foot.”

“I’m not human, Crawly. My feet don’t get sore.”

Crawly dug his thumb into the sole of Aziraphale’s foot.

“Oh!” A burst of _something_ roiled through him. An ache which he had been carrying for millennia suddenly lifted and resolved and he was flooded with relief. He flopped back onto the cushions. “Do that again, dear.”

Crawly’s smirk was palpable. He began to massage Aziraphale’s feet with the same precision he had shown in the bath—and, come to think of it, Crawly was being a bit _handsy_ tonight. As the only two ethereal beings on Earth they often spent a great deal of time together—even time alone, as they were now—but Crawly rarely touched him so readily. Perhaps it was the thin veneer of deniability that lead Crawly to touch him so much. If asked, he could simply say he was completing his duty as Anytus’s slave.

The thought that Crawly would only touch him if ordered to do so churned his stomach. Aziraphale cracked open one eye to peer at his demonic counterpart. He found Crawly intent in his work, his eyes half-lidded and his expression almost gleeful. It wasn’t the look of a man who begrudged his current situation.

Of course not. Crawly would never let a mere human order him about. Satisfied, Aziraphale closed his eyes again.

Aziraphale had never slept, but he got very close to it then. He drifted pleasantly, his body warm and oiled, the chiton soft against his skin, Crawly’s hands knowledgeable and precise and fantastically _good_. Aziraphale was quite sure Crawly would be offended if he mentioned the word, and so he kept that thought to himself. Every muscle of his corporation was relaxed. His breathing was low and calm. His mind, oddly, was utterly clear of thought or stress.

He realized Crawly had stopped touching him. He felt the air displace, and when he opened his eyes he saw Crawly very near him. Crawly leaned over him with a smug smile, studying his features as if Aziraphale were a familiar oasis returned to after a long journey through the desert, but also as if the oasis were filled with wine rather than water.

“There,” Crawly said, sounding just as smug as he looked. “What did you think of that?”

Aziraphale sighed. “You are quite adept, my dear.”

Crawly fairly preened with pride. “You should try this gig out for a while, angel. Evil humans are always looking for more slaves. You could learn something from them, maybe even turn a few to the light for your trouble.”

“I don’t think it’s for me.” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose at the thought of touching someone as self-centered as Alcibiades with the same reverence Crawly had just touched him. “Besides, I’m making good progress with Anytus simply by being his friend.”

“Sure you are, angel.”

Aziraphale puffed up crossly, but before he could retort Crawly was suddenly moving closer. He squirmed his way onto the pillows beside Aziraphale and nudged him with his head.

“Why don’t you give it a try?”

“A…try?”

“All the things slaves do. The touching and such.” Crawly nudged him again and then peered up at him through lidded, yellow eyes. “C’mon angel. I won’t bite.”

“I highly doubt that’s true.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“You’re a _demon_ ,” Aziraphale said, although come to think of it he couldn’t recall a time Crawly had ever lied to him. He sighed dramatically. “Oh, very well. If it will appease you.”

He took a moment to consider his options. Crawly helpfully held still, smiling slightly as Aziraphale looked him over from head to toe. There were many parts of him that Aziraphale would have been happy to touch. His hands, for example, which were long and delicate. Musician’s hands. Or his arms, lanky and awkward and perfect to encircle him. Or perhaps his waist, so narrow and bony, or the faint curve of his thigh. Why, Aziraphale could have even touched his face, the high swoop of his cheek bone and down over his jaw, tip his head up and…well, what came after “and” he wasn’t quite sure, but it seemed risqué.

Aziraphale poked Crawly in the shoulder.

Crawly laughed. “What was that? What do you call that?”

“It’s called touching!”

“Hardly! You poked me!”

“I-I did not! It was a caress. A massage.”

“Pft, angel, if you call that a massage I’d hate to see what your slaps look like.”

“Well, what would you have me do?”

“I dunno. But you’re missing out on a splendid chance to practice touching.”

Annoyed, Aziraphale made a snap decision. He lifted his hands and buried them in Crawly’s curly locks.

Crawly _mewled_.

They both froze, Aziraphale in shock and Crawly in embarrassment. Crawly started to wiggle away but Aziraphale was intrigued now. He tightened his grip with one hand to hold Crawly’s head still and with his other he raked his nails along Crawly’s scalp. Crawly writhed at the contact and made another soft sound that wasn’t a mewl, but was certainly embarrassing.

“Nnn—angel, what’re you—”

“This was your idea,” Aziraphale reminded him primly. He began to massage Crawly’s scalp with one hand, just as Crawly had done to him earlier, his other hand fisted in Crawly’s hair. “How does it feel?”

“Nnnuugghh,” Crawly said.

“I shall take that to mean it feels very good indeed.”

Crawly writhed and mewled again as Aziraphale found a particularly sensitive spot on the top of his head.

“…You said this didn’t feel like anything,” Aziraphale said. “When you did it to yourself.”

“Nn…didn’t…not really. Jus’ like…touch.”

“This is touch as well.” Crawly had closed his eyes which meant that Aziraphale didn’t have to hide his fond smile at the gentle happiness on his counterpart’s face.

“Not…touch. Not like that was. This is...” Crawly trailed off and writhed again, his body undulating like a snake until his chest was flush with Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale realized he was pulling Crawly’s hair a bit too hard now that he’d moved closer, and he eased off. He still held on in case Crawly tried to get away—a paltry excuse that didn’t even convince himself. He was fascinated by Crawly’s every reaction. Every point of contact sent a new shiver through Crawly’s body, brought forth a new soft sound from between his lips. If he’d know his enemy was so easy to defeat perhaps he would have done it before.

Or perhaps not. He considered, as Crawly fell to pieces beneath his touch, that perhaps this had nothing to do with their rivalry. That, in fact, most of their interactions had little to do with how much they were ordered to hate one another. Interestingly enough Aziraphale felt precisely zero enmity towards his most ancient foe. What he felt instead was fondness, a hint of affection, and an odd stirring of love deep in his belly.

“…Crawly,” he whispered. It seemed like the sort of confession that deserved a good whisper.

“Nnn?”

“Did you…like touching me?”

Crawly’s writhing stilled suddenly. He cracked open one serpentine eye and leveled Aziraphale with an accusatory frown. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean…I was only…Oh, blast. I don’t know what I mean. Except that _this—_ ” He ran both hands through Crawly’s hair until his fingers met in the back and then surprised himself by drawing Crawly’s face closer to him, until they were of one breath. “This shouldn’t feel as right as it does.”

They held very still for a moment. Crawly searched his face for answers, and what he saw there seemed to frighten him. He drew away suddenly and scrambled to his knees, looking down at Aziraphale with horror now. “Angel, I-I didn’t mean for you—this isn’t supposed to be a temptation.”

Aziraphale sat up, struggling against the cushions. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of a temptation, but now that Crawly had mentioned it he was beginning to doubt his own feelings. “You didn’t accidentally leave your temptations on after dinner with Anytus, did you?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Crawly patted himself down ineffectually. “I’m just me.”

“Yes, well ‘just you’ is quite well-practiced at tempting. Might you be doing it accidentally?”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” He pinched his own side the way a human might check if they were dreaming. “No…Nothing.”

Aziraphale considered the predicament. He closed his eyes and reached out his spirit, trying to sense what Crawly was up to. He could feel Crawly’s own soul loosely crammed into his corporation, but there was no ill intent there. Crawly almost seemed…surprised. He opened his eyes again and saw Crawly bearing that same odd look from earlier. But it passed less quickly this time, and Aziraphale was able to discern its meaning. Crawly was being _fond_. And not just fond in a general sense—which was already odd enough for a demon—but fond in a very specific and pointed way. He was being fond _towards Aziraphale_.

Now this was interesting. “Well, that’s alright then,” he said.

“It-it is?”

“Certainly.” Magnanimously, Aziraphale patted the cushions beside him. “Best come lie down again, dear. Anytus has given us all evening to do as we please.”

Crawly froze. A blush appeared at his chest and quickly rocketed its way up to the tips of his ears. “Erk—”

Realizing what he’d said, Aziraphale blushed as well. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, of course—”

“I only meant that you should lie down—”

“Never would have dreamed to assume otherwise—”

“—I would never presume to imply—”

“My mistake, my mistake—”

“And with you, a demon!”

“And with you, an angel!”

They both stopped. There was a beat of silence, and then Aziraphale choked on his own laughter. He giggled and Crawly joined in, relief plain in the cant of his shoulders.

“Do lie down, won’t you?”

Crawly slithered onto the cushions. He tucked his elbow under his head and looked up at Aziraphale curiously. “So you do understand innuendo, then?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale stoutly ignored his own embarrassment and began to run his fingers through Crawly’s hair again. The demon melted against him. “I have, as they say, ‘been around the block a few times.’”

“Mnr,” said Crawly intelligently.

“But I didn’t mean to imply that we should be…intimate. You’re my enemy, after all.”

“’Course.”

“And I wouldn’t want to…unless you…” He trailed off.

He had hoped Crawly would pick up the thread of his thoughts, but the demon was too enraptured with having his head rubbed. His eyes had closed again, and was making a soft sound not unlike a purr. Or perhaps a hiss.

Aziraphale smiled down upon him. He let the thought go, and focused intently upon his work. Crawly—already near boneless—relaxed further in increments, until he was snoring softly. Slowly, Aziraphale stopped his stroking. He let his hands fall to Crawly’s side and simply kept them there, wondering why he felt such peace. A better angel might have taken advantage of the situation, caught Crawly unaware and smote him to dust. But Aziraphale had never been a very good angel.

He held Crawly close as the oil lanterns flickered on through the night. He didn’t sleep, but he did consider his position for a long, long time.

In the morning Crawly awoke and they parted ways amiably enough, if not also a bit awkwardly. Aziraphale didn’t really know what to say about the sight of his enemy cutely blinking away sleep whilst burrowing more deeply into his embrace.

Anytus asked him all manner of improper questions as they walked through the city the next day. Aziraphale could hardly get him to talk about democracy at all, although truthfully his heart wasn’t in it. He kept thinking about Anytus returning home that evening and Crawly curling around him, whispering about the evil potential in the world. Perhaps Athens simply wasn’t the place for him. Aziraphale only stayed in the city for another month before he decided he needed a change of scenery.

\---

Decades passed, then centuries. He and Crawly met a few times throughout the years, but always in the context of their work. The next time they exchanged more than a few curt words was as Aziraphale stood anxiously watching a very particular crucifixion.

“I’m not consulted on policy decisions, Crawly.”

“Oh, I’ve changed it.”

“Changed what?”

“My name. Crawly wasn’t really doing it for me. It’s a bit too… ‘squirming-at-your-feet-ish.’”

Aziraphale thought of the last time they had been alone together, and how the demon had squirmed just from having his head scratched. That didn’t sound right at all, but all he could manage to say was, “Well, you were a snake. So what is it now? Mephistopheles? Asmodeus?”

“Crowley.”

That was alright, then. They watched the crucifixion with the usual gravitas they felt for the goings-on between humans and then went their separate ways. Aziraphale still had a great deal of thinking to do.

But if, when next they met in Rome eight years later, Aziraphale conspired to find himself alone with Crowley again, and if, perhaps, he found his fingers entangling in Crowley’s locks, bringing Crowley’s head to rest upon his thigh. And if, after that, Crowley’s yellow eyes locked to his and he felt an odd stirring in his belly at the fondness in Crowley’s gaze that he didn’t try to hide, and if that strange stirring lead him to finish his thought from four-hundred years ago by leaning down and pressing their mouths together to taste salt and ocean. And if after that things went wonderfully well and he learned all the other ways to make Crowley sigh and mewl in delight.

Well. That was between Aziraphale and his God. And Crowley, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [ writing tag ](https://adenil-umano.tumblr.com/tagged/adenil-writes) on tumblr. :)


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